Detective Baxter in: RATBURN MUST DIE
by AlexGates26
Summary: Buster assumes the identity of Detective Baxter once more after he uncovers a heinous plot to eliminate Mr. Ratburn. But as he gets closer and closer to the truth, he realizes that even his closest friends can't be trusted...
1. Chapter 1: Discovery

**PLEASE NOTE: **All future Arthur stories will take place before this one, unless indicated otherwise.

The entirety of Mr. Ratburn's class let out a long moan in unison. Most of them had been surprised to find themselves enjoying the past couple of weeks of learning about energy in school. Now old-man-Ratburn had to bring an immediate end to that by announcing a project they would have to do on it.

"I'd be a bit more quiet, class." the teacher cautioned. "I have a cane underneath my desk, and right now I don't love my job enough to worry about bringing it out of retirement." He laughed as he said the words, but the students had to wonder if he was joking or not. "Now, in pairs you will all need to design and build a model energy producer. Solar, wind, kinetic—the kind of energy is up to you, but it has to work on a small scale."

"What about nuclear?" Buster Baxter asked, jumping out of his seat excitedly.

Ratburn shook his head. "I think that one might be a bit dangerous."

"Oh you've got that right. Last night, I was watching this movie, where they had this nuclear power plant in a small town, but it malfunctioned and killed a whole lot of people!"

There was a sudden silence across the room. "Buster," Ratburn began quietly. "That wasn't a movie. That was the news report on the disaster that's currently occurring in Plyworth Falls."

Buster chuckled. "I _thought _the acting was pretty good."

Ratburn walked over to his table and leaned down to make eye-contact. "A lot of innocent people died in that explosion, Baxter." he hissed. "You could at least honor their memory by knowing whether it was _real _or not." Mr. Ratburn glared at him for a long time, his fingers almost breaking the side of the table, before he returned to his cheery tone and held up a piece of paper. "Now, I've assigned you all random partners."

"Boy, this bites." Buster whispered as he leaned across to his good friend Arthur. "Ratburn always gives the hardest projects!"

"You don't know," whispered Arthur in reply. "It all depends on who we get as partners."

"Arthur Read, you will be working with Binky Barnes."

"Goddammit!" Arthur exclaimed, slamming his fist hard on the table surface. "Why did I have to get saddled with _him_?"

"Hey!" said Binky from right beside him, sounding hurt.

"It's all random, Mr. Read." Ratburn shrugged.

"I'll work with Arthur." George suggested timidly from the other side of the room, smiling warmly at him.

"Oh, I bet you'd love _that, _pretty boy." Ratburn laughed. "But I've got you paired with Miss Muffy Crosswire."

Both Muffy and George looked unhappy at that partnership.

Ratburn continued down the list until it seemed everybody had been given their team. Everyone except Buster. He looked around. Who else didn't have a partner?

"And finally, Buster Baxter, you will be paired with the Brain."

He could hardly believe his ears. It was like a dream come true! "Yes!" he declared, throwing both hands in the air and jumping out of his seat. "Yes, yes, yes! In your face, Read, I got the Brain!"

"I'm happy I got you too, Buster." the Brain said. But he couldn't have been as happy as Buster was. It was no secret that Alan Powers was the smartest kid in class. Everyone knew as soon as you were working with him on a project, you were right on Easy Street. Buster leaned back in his chair and put his legs on the table, his hands resting behind his head. "Better luck next time, chumps!"

"You may discuss your project with your partners until the end of the day. I will be sitting at my desk reading my book of rowdy limericks."

The class dissolved into noise once more—once Ratburn was reading his limericks, there was little that could disturb him. The Brain went over to his new partner.

"Hey Brain!" Buster smiled widely, his legs still on the desk. "Pretty cool about this project, huh?"

"Hello Buster. Listen, I look forward to working with you on this, but I want to make something very clear; we're going to be doing this project _together—_as a team."

Buster sat up straight. "Well sure, I mean, yeah, no problem, Brain..."

"I don't want you to think you won't have to do anything just because you're working with me—it's going to be a team effort."

The bunny nodded. "Yeah...no problem..."

"Good." the Brain smiled. "Now, do you have any ideas as to what type of energy we should do?"

"Well, I said nuclear, but..."

"Coz I was thinking maybe wind power. Like we get some tanks of compressed air to make a windmill turn or something..."

Buster didn't reply. He was too distracted by some words he noticed carved into the side of the desk. "Hey Brain, check this out."

The Brain looked over and narrowed his eyes. "What does that say?"

"Ratburn...must...die..." Buster read.

"Wow..." The Brain said, taken aback. "Who do you think wrote it?"

"Well, this is Arthur's spot, but I think we both know _he_ doesn't have the balls for it."

The Brain nodded. "That's for sure. Should we tell Mr. Ratburn?"

Buster waved the suggestion away. "He'd probably think we did it. Besides, it's not like he's in any danger. It was probably some kid who failed a test and took it out on the table."

"You're probably right." the Brain agreed. "Now, compressed air tanks..."


	2. Chapter 2: Return

Arthur and Buster walked beside each other at the conclusion of lessons the next day.

"You going to watch Bionic Bunny tonight?" Buster inquired.

Arthur groaned in reply. "I _wish. _Binky and I are staying at school to do some research on solar power. How come you aren't studying? I thought the Brain gave you that big speech about helping out."

"He did. But today he's going out to the hardware store to buy some tanks of compressed air. I convinced him he didn't need me to help him with that."

"Compressed air?" Arthur repeated incredulously. "Isn't that going to be a bit hard to put together?"

Buster shrugged. "Not for the Brain."

Arthur groaned again. "You're going to get an A-plus for this and not even _do_ anything." He growled. "I bet Ratburn put me with that idiot Binky just for a laugh. He thinks he's _so _funny."

Arthur's bitter tone made Buster think back to the writing carved into the desk. At Arthur's spot... "Say, Arthur," he began casually. "Do you..._hate..._Mr. Ratburn?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Sure I do."

"Would you ever..._kill..._him?"

Arthur gave a short, spiteful laugh. "Oh boy, _would_ I..."

"I see..." Buster said, noting the certainty with which he answered. "Well, you better go find Binky."

"Yeah I guess. Tell me what happens on 'Bunny tonight, will you?"

"I will." he replied as he exited the school building, before adding under his breath: "Only if _you _tell me what you're planning..." But he quickly shook the thought from his mind. Arthur was a lot of things. A liar. An idiot. A bit of a racist. But Buster remained fairly confident he wasn't a killer.

The next morning, the two friends were walking back into class together again. Buster was busy explaining the details of last night's epic episode.

"So Bionic Bunny decapitated the corrupt Marxist dictator and freed the whole country?"

"That's right." Buster confirmed. "Made the place safe for democracy."

"Wow!"

As soon as they were inside the classroom, they smelt it. It was unavoidable. The stale, lingering stench of smoke. The students held up their shirts to cover their mouths.

"What happened here?" Francine asked in a muffled voice.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry about the smell." Mr. Ratburn said as he entered the room. "God, you'd think my ex-wife had been in here."

Nobody laughed.

"She was a chain-smoker." he explained.

Nobody laughed.

"As well as a horrible person."

Nobody dared laugh.

Ratburn coughed. "Yes. Well, anyway, there was a little accident here last night. There was some kind of problem in the heating vents." He indicated to the roof. "I was just in here marking some tests when suddenly the whole room began to fill with smoke. The fire department think was a small animal that got stuck up there and caught on fire, or something."

Muffy screamed.

"Don't worry, it was probably just a giant rat."

Muffy screamed again.

"And as there's no spare classrooms, we'll have to stay here, so try and put up with the smell. I'll try and not think about my bitch of an ex-wife and what she got in the divorce."

"Mr. Ratburn!" Binky gasped. "What the hell happened to your face?"

"Well, gee Binky, I don't know." he replied angrily. "What the hell happened to _yours._"

"He means that bandage on your neck." Francine explained.

"Oh." Ratburn laughed. _"That. _Well in the whole panic to get out of the room, I tripped and knocked some stuff from my desk. Some scissors must have fallen onto my neck. But I've been through worse—I was married for 9 years, remember! Back then, I believed in things..."

The class began talking quietly amongst themselves as their teacher stared vacantly out the window, making no indication he was with them. Buster left his seat to seek out the Brain.

"Hey, Buster. I got the tanks, and I completed a rough blueprint—"

"_Were you listening to that?" _Buster asked, pulling him aside.

"What? Yes, what are you on about?"

"What, you don't think it's odd that, first, someone writes RATBURN MUST DIE on a table, then he gets some scissors to the neck?"

"He told us he tripped." the Brain said dismissively.

"Or, somebody created a smokescreen and tried to stab him! He wouldn't have been able to see anything!"

"And who would do that?" the Brain demanded.

Buster looked around hesitantly. "I think...I think it's Arthur."

His suggestion was met with laughter. "Right. Sure Buster. _Arthur Read_ tried to kill somebody. That makes sense."

"Keep your voice down!" Buster commanded. "You don't understand. I talked to him yesterday. He said he wanted to kill Mr. Ratburn. And he stayed behind at school to work on his project—well, at least that was his excuse!"

The Brain stopped smiling. "Come on Buster, this is our friend we're talking about. Why would he even _want _to kill him?"

A frown slowly broke across Buster's face. "I don't know, Brain, but if I'm going to find out, I think I need to call Detective Baxter out of retirement."

The Brain buried his face in his hand. "Oh, come on Buster, really? Every time you become Detective Baxter you end up going crazy with your own sense of righteousness."

"That's something that must be tolerated. Because even if Detective Baxter is unconventional, he gets results, dammit."

The Brain wasn't sucked in. "Remember your last case?"

Buster stiffened at the thought. "Of course. There's no reason to bring that up—"

"You reduced Fern to tears trying to interrogate her about Mrs. MacGrady's missing cake."

"Well, I was determined to find out who ate it."

"You ate it!" The Brain poked him in the chest. "You ate the whole thing and then just forgot about it, so you assumed there was a cake-thief on the loose."

"Yes...and the Detective had to retire in shame...but I think now I found the perfect opportunity for him to win back the public's trust."

"Well, let me know how that works out." The Brain was keen to move from the topic. "Now, as I was saying, I completed a rough draft of blueprints for our model." He pulled a rubber band of a large roll of paper and stretched it across the desk to reveal a insanely complicated looking sketch of mechanical pieces, numbers and words.

For Buster, the boy who often had trouble using the microwave, it was naturally a bit confusing. "Oh, that's...that's really...what's that bit do?" He pointed to a random part of the drawing.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that." The Brain cleared his throat before continuing. "Do you happen to have a good quality remote control car?"

"Um..." Buster did indeed have a very good quality remote control car. The top of the line, even. But what concern was this of the Brain's? "I don't _not _have. Why?"

"I need some of the parts for the model."

"Well you can forget it, chump!" Buster exclaimed, moving back defensively. "It took me forever to con my mom into getting me the DirtMaster 2000! You remember Baxter Day?"

"Of course. You sang us a song about how much that heartwarming day meant to you."

"Yeah—_bull-crap._ I invented that holiday for the sole-purpose of getting that car! And now you want to smash it up for a school project?"

"_Please_, Buster?" the Brain begged, clasping his hands together. "It's not like it'd be broken forever. I could put it back together as soon as we get our grade."

"...really?"

"Yeah, it's no problem! It's very simple mechanics, I'll just disassemble it, take a few parts and reassemble it when we're done. We can't do model without it."

"Well...alright, I guess." thought Buster, relieved he only had to do so little to help out on the project. "Just don't break it. I'll bring it in tomorrow."

"Yes! Thanks Buster! You're the best parter ever."

Buster blushed and put on his false modesty. "Ah come one...I don't know about the _best_...Muffy seems pretty good."

The pair looked over to George and Muffy, already in a conversation themselves.

"I am so sick of your bad attitude." she was saying. "If my ideas are so bad, why don't you get off your lazy ass and suggest a better one?"

George replied through gritted teeth. "Shut up, you bitch, just please shut up."

For the rest of the day, all Buster could think about was Arthur. But not in the way George probably did. He stared at him intently, trying to notice anything about his day-to-day activity that could mirror that of a killer-mastermind. But he saw nothing. He couldn't take the risk in any case. Buster didn't care much for Ratburn at all, but that didn't mean he could stand by while there was somebody trying to _murder_ him. Today after school, Detective Baxter was going to make Arthur tell him what he knew about the matter. _Everything_ he knew. Whether he wanted to or not.

Some of his classmates gave Buster a hard time for his habit of jumping to conclusions when there was often a much simpler answer. But they wouldn't this time. This time, his suspicion and shrewd determination were going to save a life.


	3. Chapter 3: Interrogation

"So, wait, you actually _taped _Bionic Bunny last night?" Arthur asked, a little confused.

"That's right." Buster replied confidently.

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" Arthur asked, hardly able to contain his excitement. "Come on, let's go!" The pair of them quickened their pace to Buster's house. Buster watched his friend jog ahead of him with a sense of guilt. He didn't like lying to his friend to get him inside his house. But he certainly didn't like the idea of the same friend being a cold-blooded murderer either.

They arrived at the porch together, and Buster opened the door. Arthur immediately stepped inside and waited for his pal to join him. With one final scan of the street to see if anyone was watching them, Buster stepped inside as well and gently closed the door.

"So is the tape already in there, or—"

Arthur's question was cut short when Buster grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and slammed his body in the wall. "Why did you do it?" He bellowed into his stunned face.

Arthur didn't know what the hell was going on. "What are you—do _what, _Buster?"

"It's Detective Baxter to _you_, wise-ass."

"Oh no..." said Arthur, his eyes widening with the relation of just who he was up against. "Listen, I don't know—"

"_Cut the crap, Arthur!" _Buster shrieked. "I know! I know what you did, you're only digging a bigger grave for yourself. I know _you_ were the one who tried to kill Ratburn last night, but I don't know why!"

"_But I didn't!" _Arthur insisted, flabbergasted.

"Buster, honey?" came a sudden voice from the living room. "You're making quite a ruckus, dear."

"Oh yeah, uh, sorry Mom." Buster replied in his regular tone. "I'm just hanging out with Arthur."

"Oh. Well. That explains it." she said in a curt voice (Buster's mother had held something of a grudge against Arthur since he had met her Mormon cousin and promptly—and unscrupulously—went about criticizing his beliefs).

"Buster—Detective—I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Buster shook his head disappointedly. "I didn't like facing the facts either, but I didn't have a choice. The stone-cold truth was that Arthur Read, beloved friend to all, was a sick-minded killing-machine. I admit I never saw it coming—and yet now it makes so much sense! You've always been an odd one, Arthur. Do you think we forgot about the time you hit your little sister? Or when you stole that snowball she loved so much?"

"The goddamn snowball melted!" he protested.

"Sure it did, Arthur. It melted under your fists of rage! Now you've moved onto teachers. You smoked out Ratburn's room and stabbed him in the neck while he was blinded—and I want to know why? Why Ratburn? I'm warning you, some crazy, balls-to-the-walls crap is going to go down right here if you don't start talking! Now answer me—RATBURN MUST DIE—_why?"_

"Wait!" Arthur said. "You saw that message too?"

"Of course. You carved it into the edge of your desk—a fairly stupid move, but you never were a smart one, Arthur."

He shook his head. "I never saw it on _my_ desk—but when I was in the library last night there was the exact same thing scrawled on the side of one of the computers."

Buster scoffed. "So you wrote it there too. Big deal."

"But what makes you think I'm capable of murder?"

Buster had an answer for that. "I asked you yesterday. Remember? You said you would kill him."

Arthur threw up his arms, defensively. "But anyone in the class would have aid that! Face it, Ratburn's a dick! But do you really think _I _would have the balls to actually go through with it?"

The grip finally softened lightly around Arthur's collar. But Buster was ready to drop the matter just yet. "So it's all a crazy coincidence? I mean, somebody writes that message, and Ratburn just _happens _to get a pair of scissors to the neck?"

Arthur shook his head. "Oh no. I mean, if somebody wrote that—twice—they probably were the ones behind it." He shrugged lamely "All I know is it wasn't me."

"Then who was it?" Buster shot back.

"Well..." Arthur began to think. "I can't think of anyone who could have...or would want to...I mean except of course..." His eyes widened and locked with Buster's. He spoke the next words softly and precisely, as if he was afraid of what he was revealing. "Except of course for Binky."

A heavy silence hung in the air after he spoke the words.

"Oh God, Buster, it's _him—_it's Binky! It has to be!"

"How can you be sure?"

Arthur lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "Because while we were in the library, he left. He said he had to go to the bathroom—but he was gone for about twenty minutes!"

"Smoke bombs!" Buster said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Novelty smoke bombs placed in the ceiling—and who always uses novelty smoke bombs?"

"That gang of fourth-graders Binky hangs out with—the Tough Customers."

"Exactly!" Buster said, pounding one fist into his palm. "He must have got it from them. Dare I say they're involved in this whole scheme too."

"Why though? I mean, I know Binky used to be something of a bully, but I thought he changed. I never thought he could do _this_..."

Busted shook his head mournfully. "You don't understand it like I do, Arthur. The criminal mind is a sad thing indeed—subject to snap into a dangerous state at the drop of a hat. For Binky, it was probably his grades; Ratburn's failed him more than anyone else in the class. I guess the last time, something changed." He finally let go of Arthur and patted him on the back. "Sorry, old friend. But I had to know if it was you."

"It's okay Buster. You were only trying to save a life—that's what Detective Baxter does best. But we'll have to warn Ratburn first thing tomorrow. At least that way he'll be a bit more prepared if Binky tries it again."

Buster nodded. "Come on, let's get some milk." He lead his friend into the kitchen.

On the way, Arthur turned around and laughed. "You didn't really have any crazy balls-to-the-walls stuff organized, did you?"

Buster grinned and pulled out his pockets, revealing a large hammer and standard cylindrical cheese-grater.

Arthur's expression turned to one of horror. "Oh my God! What's the cheese-grater for?"

Buster just chuckled and patted him on the back again. "Just thank your lucky stars you never had to find out."


	4. Chapter 4: Victory

"Mr. Ratburn?"

Arthur's teacher lifted his gaze from his laptop and raised his eyebrows. "Arthur? Staying behind during recess? Shouldn't you be out playing kickball? All the boys love kickball. All the boys _and _Francine."

"I actually have something to tell you, sir."

"Oh, God...this isn't about a dead body is it? I don't think this school's reputation can handle another one of those."

"Well..." Arthur considered the question. "Sir, I think you need to see this."

Ratburn rose from his seat and followed Arthur over to his table, where the small writing carved into the edge was wordlessly pointed out.

"Ratburn must die..." he read aloud.

"There was the same thing written on one of the computers in the library." Arthur explained.

Ratburn actually chuckled "And that's the big disaster? Some graffiti about me?"

"You don't understand, sir!" Arthur protested, annoyed that his teacher didn't appreciate the severity of the situation. "I think...well I _know_ there's a student with a personal vendetta against you. He wants to kill you—in fact, he almost _did _on the afternoon before last."

"There was nothing suspicious about that incident, Arthur." he insisted, waving the suggestion away with his hands. "There was a problem in the heating, and I accidentally got a pair of scissors to the neck in my confusion."

"But I—"

"As for somebody wanting to kill me, they definitely aren't original. The fact is I'm a _very _unpopular man at this school. I'm comparable to...I don't know...I guess Hitler. But I think I can handle the threats of some third-graders."

"But I don't think you—"

"No more of this. Run along now Arthur, before Francine single-handedly beats all the boys at kickball."

"You don't know—"

"Dammit Read, I said run along!"

While Arthur was trying in vain to warn Ratburn of the significant danger he faced, Buster leaned casually against the back wall of the gym—well known as the hangout for the lowest scum of the school's social network. Normally, he wouldn't be caught dead her. But he needed to meet somebody, and he didn't want to do it near the prying eyes of the goody-goodies. He wore a dark trench coat and baggy fedora—the standard outfit of Detective Baxter. He was just beginning to wonder if his contact would show at all, when he appeared around the corner.

"Hello, Binky."

The bulldog looked surprised. "Buster? You're the one I'm meeting here?"

Buster smiled grimly. "Who else would it be?"

Binky hesitantly took a step forward. "What's all this about? You didn't mention anything on the note about what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Buster also moved forward. "I'm not going to dance around it, Binky. There's no time for that anymore. I just have to tell you; I know."

"Oh, okay." His face remained blank. "You know what?"

"I know it was you. It's over, Binky."

Still nothing. "Lost what?"

Buster sighed. It was hard to be cryptic with a mind as dense as Binky's. "You lost the deadliest game of all."

Finally he caught on. "Oh, no!"

"Oh yes. It was a foolish move. You should have known that Detective Baxter would find the truth before too long."

Binky dropped to his knees and sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please don't tell anyone it was me! I'll never do it again, I swear."

Buster wasn't expecting this. "You...confess then?"

He nodded frantically. "But don't tell Ratburn it was me! Please Buster, I'm your friend. Remember when everyone turned on Detective Baxter? I stuck by you the whole time."

It was true. Binky had been the only supportive one after the MacGrady Cake Scandal. Buster considered himself an expert at reading the human face, and from what he could tell now, Binky was well and truly sorry for what he did. So he tried to kill Ratburn. He seemed to have learned his lesson. "You'll have a word to those friends of yours then?" Buster asked.

"Yes!" replied Binky immediately. "Yes, I will, I promise!"

"Alright Binky. I guess I can let you off this time. But I'm warning you; the second you slip-up again..." he leaned into his face._ "Your ass is toast, punk."_

Buster left on that note, leaving Binky behind to think over his chilling final words. As agreed, he caught up with Arthur by the lockers. "How did it go?"

Arthur shook his head. "Ratburn doesn't get it. He just refused to take it seriously. He wouldn't even let me tell him it was Binky."

"It doesn't matter." Buster assured him. "Binky won't be trying it again. I'm sure of it. I think he was probably put up to the whole thing by the Tough Customers."

"So...it's over?"

Buster looked out across the schoolyard. Peace had been restored. He smiled. "Yes, Arthur. It's over."

"Then let me be the first to say; a job well-done—_Detective Baxter_."


	5. Chapter 5: Revelations

The days went by, and any fear Buster or Arthur held about Binky continuing with his vendetta quickly disappeared. School life continued as normal. Binky looked every part a normal and happy student again, and there was never any further indication that Ratburn was in danger.

The class still worked on their energy-producing models. As it turned out, Buster didn't do an awful lot after all. Whenever he asked how if he could help the Brain, he was asked in reply a massively-complicated question regarding the production of wind energy or electronic circuitry, which he could never find an answer for. The Brain didn't really seem to mind though. He would always cheerily give Buster updates about 'their' device's developments, and occasionally reassure him the fine mark 'they' were sure to receive.

The project wasn't the only good thing going for Buster. Since his thwarting of Binky's crusade, there was a subtle—though definitely real—deviation in the way his fellow third graders interacted with him. Deep down, he could sense there was now some form of admiration for him. He didn't exactly know how—he assumed Binky wouldn't want to tell anyone—but for whatever reason, Buster seemed to now be the go-to guy whenever a mystery stalked the playground. His reputation was restored—Detective Baxter had earned a way back into his classmates good books, and he was loving every second of it. He thought he was destined to lead the good life forever.

But he was wrong. So very, very wrong. Because not long after, it came; the event that finally broke Detective Baxter, far beyond repair. He had been down before—the MacGrady Cake Scandal was only one of those occasions—but then came the only time he had ever been out. In just one afternoon, he lost all the belief he had in himself.

It was two weeks since the final encounter with Binky behind the gym, and the day the class's projects were due. This didn't bother Buster too much, as the whole model had been assembled at the Brain's house, and he would be the one to bring it in. When he did, Buster could hardly contain his surprise at something he was meant to be so involved in.

The model looked _awesome._

Two small, cylindrical tanks were mounted on a glossy wooden block. There was a clamp near their valve, and connected near that was a button and some wires. Next to the tanks was a white and sturdy pinwheel-like object, at the base of which lay some kind of LED display.

"Wow, Brain!" Buster exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. "I mean, I knew you were good with wires and stuff, but how did you manage _this_?"

The Brain shrugged like it was no big deal. "It's no big deal. The real life-saver was your racing car. Without it, I wouldn't have the parts for the electronic valve-release."

"Happy to help!" Buster said cheerily. "So, uh, how does it work?"

"It's really quite simple. When I press this button, (he pointed to the wires near the tanks) the clamp snaps the valves open. This is meant to replicate air. The air slowly flows from the air and makes the windmill turn. Every time it moves around, it's noted by this counter (he pointed to the black box with the LED display). This shows how much 'energy' has been stored."

"That's cool!" Buster said truthfully. "Do you think every project is as good as this?"

Binky entered the room excitedly. "You guys, I have the best idea!" he declared. "I'm going to stick Arthur on the treadmill in Principle Haney's office and make him keep on running until he passes out!"

"Well I suppose that _is _kinetic," the Brain admitted. "But how does it produce energy?"

"Energy?" Binky inquired, confused. He looked down at the pair's model and slapped his forehead. "Oh _man_! Were those projects due today?"

One by one, the other groups trailed in with their projects. A few of them looked somewhat impressive, but most were fairly pitiful, such as Arthur's feeble plastic pinwheel, a supposed other example of wind energy production. They were all placed next to each other on the bench at the room's side, and eventually Mr. Ratburn entered.

"Sorry I'm late, class." he said hurriedly. "Surprise surprise, my car stalled. I swear, it broke down at the exact same time my marriage did." He placed his briefcase by his desk and went to inspect the projects, letting out a long whistle at the sight that greeted him.. "Wow, it really is a sorry haul this year." He then caught sight of the Brain's model. "Except for this..._beast._" He picked it up and looked at it from all sides. "Impressive work, Buster and Brain. Very impressive indeed. Of course I can't _promise _you a good grade. But I do."

The projects were to be left on the bench to be observed for the rest of the day. After school, Ratburn would take them home, where he could inspect how they worked and subsequently grade them. Buster of course, didn't need to worry about that.

The day dragged on as usual. Francine ruthlessly dominated at kickball. Arthur temporarily lost his glasses in the toilet and was subsequently labeled 'two eyes' by Binky. And naturally, Muffy went about subtlety reminding Francine that her father made more money. Yes, that fateful day seemed in every sense an ordinary one—up until the end came. Ratburn had wheeled in a large metal tray, usually used by Mrs. MacGrady for catering, to carry the projects from the class down to his car. Naturally, there wasn't enough room for all of them to fit comfortable on the tray, but he didn't seem to worry about that. Nor did he seem to worry about placing the heavier models on the top of the pile. Buster heard a soft sob come from Fern's direction when she saw her delicate solar-powered device crushed under the weight of the Brain's deluxe apparatus.

"Mr. Ratburn!" she choked. "You broke ours!"

Her teacher examined the wreckage. "Oh. So I did." He let out a laugh. "Well, I guess I'll have to give you a C."

"But I'm averaging a B-plus!"

"A C it is, then."

The bell sounded and the class evacuated, at least one in tears now.

"Oh, no!" called out Ratburn as they flooded out the door. "That's fine class! I don't need any help with this! Go out and enjoy those petty social lives you love so much!"

"Thanks, Mr. R!" Binky said with a smile.

Buster was struggling with the lock to his locker when George awkwardly appeared behind him. "Hey Buster."

"Hey, George." Buster greeted, pounding the metal door with his fist. "What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could do something for me."

Buster turned around hesitantly. "What do you have in mind?" He asked, not positive he wanted to know the answer.

George reached into his pocket and produced a folded-up piece of paper. "Somebody in class drew this picture of me."

Buster took the paper and opened it. "I don't get it."

"You're looking at it upside-down."

"Oh, I see, it's—oh! Oh God, that's disgusting!"

George nodded grimly. "I found it on the floor. I was wondering if you could find out who drew it."

Buster struggled to hide his grin. "Well, maybe I could do that. But let me ask you something. What made you come to _me_?"

He shrugged. "I heard you're a guy who can solve problems like this. I mean, just yesterday, Binky was telling me about how you nabbed _him, _and I figured—"

"Binky _what?_"

"Binky told me about how you caught him, so I figured I'd give you a shot."

Buster couldn't make sense of it. "Why would Binky want to tell anybody about that..."

"Oh, come on." George said. "It isn't a big deal. So the guy stumbled into the girls bathroom. Big whoop. I'm sure he's not the only one who's d..."

"George, what the hell are you on about?"

"You know! The elusive Bathroom Bandit?"

"Yeah..." Buster had heard of him. A few girls had reported seeing a male momentarily in their bathroom, but they weren't sure who it was. What followed was something of a witch-hunt in the third-grade as everybody tried to find the culprit. He was never caught though.

"And you were good enough to find out it was Binky, and you made him confess." George explained. "...didn't you?"

Buster abandoned his locker and took off at full-speed. He had to catch Binky before he went home. Fortunately, he was still lingering around the front steps when Buster saw him.

"Binky! Binky!" he called out breathlessly.

He received a standard, cheery response from the bulldog. "Hey Buster. Hows it going?"

"Binky, did you tell everyone you were the Bathroom Bandit?"

He looked confused. "Well...I _am _the Bathroom Bandit. I figured you had already told everyone it was me. After all, you found me out."

"What? No I didn't!" Buster protested, his head swimming. "I didn't make you confess to _that! _I made you confess to trying to kill Ratburn!"

"Oh..." said Binky slowly. He was silent for a second. "I didn't try and kill Ratburn."

"But...but..." Buster spluttered. "Remember?

Binky looked at him blankly.

"It's over?"

Blank.

"You lost?"

Blank.

"The deadliest game of all?"

"I thought looking in the girl's bathroom was the deadliest game of all."

"No!"

"Oh...then what was?"

"_Trying to kill Ratburn!_" Buster screeched. "You...you carved your the message in the desk and you...smoke bombs...and...you...and"

"Buster, you're kinda freaking me out." Binky admitted. "I think I'm going to go. See ya." He turned to walk away, leaving Buster confused as all hell, his mouth hanging agape, his mind trying desperately trying to make sense of the situation. However, Binky offered one more thing before he was out of conversation-range. "But if you're looking for some guy damaging school property, asked the Brain. I once saw him scribble something on the side of one of the library's computers. Maybe he's in on it."

_The Brain?_

_The computer?_

_What?_


	6. Chapter 6: Defeat

Without realizing what he was doing, Buster took off again, forcing his shaking legs to move. He was calling out to the crowd still dispersing from the steps, asking everyone the same questions. Where is the Brain? Have you seen the Brain? Eventually, one person replied that she had seen him heading back to the classroom. And then suddenly he was in the hallways again, frantically twisting and turning his head to see if he could spot his classmate in any of the rooms. He couldn't. Eventually, he found his way back to his own class's to see the door was closed. Without hesitation, Buster twisted the handle and barged in.

And _there _was the Brain, standing with his back to him, holding something unidentifiable in his hands. At the sound, he turned around immediately, hiding the object behind his back.

"Buster!" he said, clearly flustered. "What are you—"

Buster slammed the door shut again. "Binky saw you, Brain."

"Saw me—"

"I've had enough." Buster said firmly, holding up both hands. "Everyone says the same thing. But Binky saw you write your little message on one of the computers. There's no denying that."

The Brain looked at his friend for a long time. Then he sighed. "How much do you know?"

"I know who. I just don't know why."

The Brain gave a bitter smirk. "I wrote that message _weeks _ago. I suppose I should be angry at myself for being so careless, but in many ways I'm glad. If that idiot had had the brains to tell someone earlier, this whole thing may have been avoided."

"Why _you_, Brain? I could understand Binky's motivation. But why would you possible want Ratburn gone? You're the perfect student."

The Brain's smirk turned into a resentful sneer. "Not perfect enough, apparently. You remember those individual projects we did at the start of the term, where we had to discuss a scientific question of our choice?"

Buster remembered. He had decided to answer the question "Why is Arthur's Dad such a loser?" But apparently, pictures of David Read in a pathetic hat and apron being abused by the manager of the Sugar Bowl did not constitute a project. The class seemed to like it though.

"Well, I soundly answered the question 'How did the universe begin? That _idiot _excuse for a teacher gave me a B-plus—he said that my answer was too dogmatic and didn't take into account other possibilities. The moron."

"Gee Brain, a B-plus isn't that bad. I'd say it's pretty damn—"

"I'd rather be dead!" he roared. "Since I had to repeat kindergarten, I've never received any mark worse than an A. Then this imbecile ruins everything because my answer is too confrontational? It's just not fair!"

"So you went at his neck with a pair of scissors." Buster concluded, shaking his head. "I honestly thought you had more class than that, Brain."

At the last comment, the Brain shot him a confused look, which very slowly became a smile. He laughed. "Oh dear Buster. You call yourself a detective, but really, you know little. So very little."

"What do you mean?" Buster asked, worried by this sudden burst of confidence. "What more is there to know?"

"I've been planning this for a long time. A very long time. If was going to get rid of Ratburn, I wasn't going to use something as cheap and unreliable as a pair of classroom scissors."

Busters stomach dropped. He could feel every well-placed piece of his hypothesis fall away around him. "It wasn't you. You didn't fill up the room with smoke."

"Well, technically no. I hired one of Binky's fourth-grade friends to place a smoke-bomb in the ventilation while Ratburn was in there. I just didn't stab him in the neck. That, I believe, was a genuine act of clumsiness on his part."

"Then why smoke-out the room in the first place?"

"That, Buster, was for you."

"What do _I _have to do with this?"

The Brain smiled, enjoying Buster's state of perplexity. "I know you Buster. Though you can't put them together, I admit you do have a knack for seeing the pieces of a puzzle. Before I got rid of Ratburn, I would have to throw you off the scent. RATBURN MUST DIE. The smoke bomb. All false clues to keep you on a wild goose chase while the real culprit worked away right in front of you. And it turned out perfectly. You were so sure it was Binky, the whole plan fell right into place."

"Alright then, tell me." Buster demanded. The Brain had been criticizing him this whole time, but as long as Ratburn was alive, he hadn't failed. "What is the plan. If you never made an attempt on Ratburn, what is it you're going to do?"

"_Do,_ Buster? I'm afraid it's practically already done." Throughout the conversation, the Brain had his hands behind his back. Now he revealed what he had been holding.

"Hey!" Buster yelled. "That's mine!" It was his, or at least, it once was. In the Brain's grasp was the remote control for the DirtMaster 2000, Buster's high-quality RC car.

"You can't possibly understand how long I've been at this." he gloated. "For our projects, I was originally partnered with Sue Ellen. But that would be no good. I've worked with her before. She would have insisted on taking part. Chances were, she'd discover what I was up to. So I hacked into Ratburn's laptop and changed my parter. To you. Someone who would take one look a blueprint and be too confused to dare join in. You sat home watching Bionic Bunny while I was working on the project—though admittedly it's a bit different to the way I explained it."

"How different?" Buster asked softly.

"Well, for one, the tanks don't actually contain oxygen. No, they actually contain a significant amount of highly-flammable gas. Gas that _could_ be released remotely, if only I had a high-quality control. Oh, hang on a second—I do!" He held up the large remote. "At with the press of a button, the valve opens automatically, filling any enclosed area with the lethal stuff. Like so." He moved his finger towards the acceleration trigger.

Buster took a step forward. "Don't do it, Brain!"

"You're too late, Detective Baxter. You're just too late." He pulled the trigger.

Buster shut his eyes and hurled himself onto the floor, expecting to feel the searing heat and shuddering blast of an explosion.

But nothing came.

"Buster, please." the Brain said. "There won't be an explosion until there's something to ignite the gas. Say, someone turning on a car?"

_Ratburn's car..._

And finally, _finally_, Buster actually knew _everything. _All the projects, including the Brain's, had been loaded into Ratburn's car, now flooding with gas. The second he turned on the ignition in the car park, the whole vehicle would become a fireball. The inevitable prospect made the whole detective game just seem like a laugh. When Buster thought it was Arthur or Binky after their teacher, there was never any sense of real danger. It was just a puzzle, one that he would have fun solving. Only now could he realized how out of his depth he had been all along. The Brain had a near-genius level intellect. He had proven himself smart enough to put into action a plan that killed somebody and kept everyone else distracted at the same time. He never had a chance against someone like that. He had prided himself on being able to save a life, but when there was a real threat, he hadn't done a damn thing. Detective Bater had failed from the beginning.

Buster arrived at the car park, sprinting at a speed he never had before, hands waving wildly above his head in a purely desperate attempt to gain Ratburn's attention. He did. His teacher looked up from the dashboard only to smile and waved back.

And then he turned the key.


End file.
